


Ho Ancora La Forza

by Infamous_society



Series: Voglio Avere Dei Ricordi [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Childhood Memories, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Italian speaking idiots, Ligabue, M/M, Memories, Nico and Chiara are friends, Nico speaks Italian, No one can convince me otherwise, Repressed Memories, Venice, Will gets annoyed, a lot of italian, shadowtravel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 09:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infamous_society/pseuds/Infamous_society
Summary: If you forget your past you forget where you came from. You can never forget your past. So you can never forget where you came from and the memories that resurface. Nico can’t escape.Can be read as a stand alone or part of the series.





	Ho Ancora La Forza

**Author's Note:**

> Ho Ancora La Forza means ‘I Still Have The Strength’ and comes from a Ligabue song of the same name. It could also translate to I Have Anchor The Strength but I am 99% sure that it was not intended to be translated that way.

Golden thread blessed the ground and emerald leaves danced like the muses, praising the riches. 

Nico sighed. 

The tree he lent against dug into his back as he sheltered in the shade. He never was a fan of the midday sun – even in Venice.

_Italia. Venezia. La mia casa. Mama. Bianca._

He blinked. Time never healed wounds. Especially on days when it seemed to him there was a constant stream of two voices in his head; one in Italian and one in English. It was harder to ignore his past then, all water, fire and lightning. 

* * *

 

The apartment, the smell of fresh food and salt, Pietro shouting, the regular bustle of tourists and locals alike. 

It was hard to forget running past shops that were filled to the brim with glass, hard to forget _acqua alta,_ harder still to forget fireworks and gondolas bunched together in a line across the water, impossible to forget his mother’s smile as sunglight dazzled of the Grand Canal. 

Sundays spent at nonna’s, eating  _baccala mantecato_ together. Laughing and talking about their neighbours, whispering in hushed tones about Mussolini’s latest campaign —

Nico jerked, his whole body trembling slightly as he moved away from the tree. 

Shouts floated over towards him, travelling from the training grounds. He was far enough into the woods that no one was going to notice him here. He was used to going unnoticed. 

“Mama...Bianca...?” Nico’s voice sounded raspy, almost as if he was on the verge of crying. 

The leaves just glinted as if to tease him, mocking him that they had riches he could no longer attain. 

A shaky sigh passed his lips. All he could hear now was lullabies drifting around his mind. For so many years he couldn’t remember life before Washington D.C., after Tartarus it was all he could remember. 

 _Lontano andrò, dove non sò,_  
_parto col pianto nel cuor_  
_dammi l'ultimo bacio d'amor._

 Sweet like honey, smooth like silk his sister’s voice mingled with his mother’s as they sang with each other. Rich thick brown hair curled and bounced around their shoulders as they spun each other around. Smiles that could light up the night sky donned their faces. A hand stretched out, beckoning Nico to join their dance. He reached out to take it...

His hand hit the ground. 

Tears threatened to fall. His family were gone. His mother incinerated by Zeus’ lightning bolt. Nico had only remembered her death recently, Hades scooping Maria’s charred body up in his arms. Bianca...lost somewhere in the desert...lost somewhere where there was no canals or narrow alleyways to offer shelter from the blistering sun. 

Yet here he knelt in the shadows. Standing, Nico merged with them.

* * *

 He winced. The streaks of orange along the horizon dazzled in his eyes. 

_Tramonto_

Suddenly disorientated, he stumbled backwards. It was midday last time he had checked. Now pink, orange and gold painted the sky. Where was he? 

Opening his eyes once more he grimaced. Some restaurant nearby was playing _Volare_ obnoxiously loud. The smell of fresh food and salt air came rushing into his nostrils. 

_Mio paese..._

Water lapped at the rickety wooden docks. Nico’s hands trembled. A shaky step forward. There were more tourists than he remembered, more shops than he thought possible, more stereotyping than he could imagine. Still he stood in his home country, in his home state, in his home town. 

He knew these streets and the people who roamed them. Or at least he used to know the people. Most of their souls wandered Asphodel now. 

Masks littered shop windows, in more abundance than Nico had ever seen. In their apartment one small mask lay on a cabinet, a family relic of sorts from before the carnival was banned. Now he could not escape his heritage. 

He winced. This was his street, his childhood memories. Blending in was easy in Venice if you were a Venetian, but for a Venetian so many years spent away from home it was impossible. Everything had changed. Nico had changed. 

Silhouettes of him and Bianca walking hand in hand, of him and his mum hanging washing above the canal, seemed to dance along the street. 

His knees buckled.

* * *

 Dizzy and deluded, Nico collapsed next to his cabin. His head pounded, his stomach felt nauseous and his emotions were in disarray. Shadowtravel was bad enough but shadowtravelling to and from Venice was worse. 

Olive skin had turned almost translucent. Weary eyes were now closed. Nico felt drained. 

Struggling to his feet, he slowly shuffled a few paces before almost stumbling. 

_Perché?_

He tried to block the Italian out of his head, focusing on America, focusing on listening to English. 

A head of blond nearly ran into him. Azure eyes glanced nervously at Nico. 

“What did I tell you about shadowtravelling?” Will Solace chided. 

“Era solamente Venezia, tesoro mio...” Nico managed to reply though his mouth was dry. 

_Venezia. Mama. Bianca. Il mio patrimonio. I miei amici. Mama. Bianca. Perché?_

* * *

 

Jet black hair hung by him as hazel eyes gazed at him with concern. 

“I miss Italy too but I don’t break out singing _Marina_ whilst sleeping after collapsing and having a nightmare,” a cheery voice remarked. “I also don’t shadowtravel there in my spare time.”  

Nico groaned, the smell of pasta and salt still hung in his nose, the last rays of the sun flickering across the rooftops still burnt in his mind. No coherent sentence would form in his mouth. 

Chiara smiled gently, “You could have at least sang some Ligabue...he was all my dad would listen to.” 

Smiling meekly, Nico tried to sit up. A tanned hand pushed his chest down. Will Solace glowered at him, his eyes looking like rain in a thunderstorm. 

“You should have told me Nico,” were the only words to leave his mouth. 

Nico could only turn his head weakly. 

“I think my favourite song is Certe Notti.”

Chiara glanced up ever so slightly, “Our favourite song was Ho Ancora La Forza.” 

_Ho ancora i miei ricordi...ho ancora la forza._

_I still have the strength._

**Author's Note:**

> Songs referenced:  
> Piemontesina Bella - Enrico Frati and Giovanni Raimondo  
> Volare - Dean Martin  
> Marina - Rocco Granata (coincidentally my nonna named my mum after this song)  
> Certe Notti - Ligabue  
> Ho Ancora La Forza - Ligabue 
> 
> La mia casa - my house  
> Acqua alta - high water  
> Baccala mantecato - traditional Venetian dish  
> Tramonto - sunset  
> Mio paese- my country  
> Perché - why (can also mean because)  
> Era solamente Venezia tesoro mio - it was only Venice my dear (literally means my treasure)  
> Il mio patrimonio- my heritage  
> I miei amici - my friends  
> Ho ancora i miei ricordi - I still have my memories


End file.
